February 27, 2010
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I took Cooper to McDonald’s yesterday to let him run off some steam in the play area. He was enjoying playing with bigger kids, but having a bit of trouble keeping up. Finally he asked me to help him take off his socks so he could get better traction on the plastic equipment. I emphatically denied this request. He argued with me vociferously.
As his hysteria increased, I racked my brain for a way to stop the argument and keep his socks on without resorting to carrying a screaming toddler out of McDonald’s. I frantically tried to make eye contact with other mommies hoping one of them would pull a magic mommy trick out of her sleeve. Apparently the Quarter Pounders were particularly fascinating that day because no one would look at me.
I cast my eyes toward heaven, mumbling a prayer for deliverance from child services when I beat this child with a happy meal toy patience. I found my salvation not in the form of the Holy Spirit, but in a statue of Ronald McDonald. I pointed to Ronald and said, “Cooper, keeping your socks on is Ronald’s rule. If you take them off he’ll make us leave.”
Cooper turned his tear-streaked face to Ronald, raised his hands in supplication and wailed, “WHY, RONALD?”
February 26, 2010
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Wednesday I spent some time at Jack’s school. During art class, three little girls went to the restroom together. I don’t remember needing to take my girlfriends to the bathroom with me in first grade. Must be all the hormones in the milk nowadays. Later, the three girls came bursting back in, rushed to the art teacher, Miss C., and babbled over each other like little magpies (I’m so glad I have boys, little girl chatter is annoying as hell). I watched from across the room as Miss C. turned white and then green while one of the girls waved a paper towel in her face. Miss C. is not a mama, I knew my services were needed.
I led the girls away while Miss C. took several deep breaths. Turns out, a tooth had been pulled in the bathroom. I told the two girls whose mouths weren’t bloody to go back to art, and led the other girl toward the nurse. The two friends pretended not to hear me and trailed us down the hall. I shrugged and kept walking.
As we approached the nurse I asked to see the tooth. The little girl replied, “I threw it in the trash.” Then she started to cry. In my head I said, “What the hell were you thinking, you little idiot?” Aloud I said, “Okay, honey, let’s see what we can do.”
Long story short, I ended up in the bathroom with a handful of plastic gloves, staring down at a trash can full of paper towels in various shades of wet, slime, and blood. I then did what any caring adult would do. I tossed the gloves in the trash, pulled a dollar out of my wallet, and said, “I’m the tooth fairy today, go to class.”
February 22, 2010
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Hi, friends. I’ve been away so long I can’t decide where to begin. I guess it’s time for a bullet point update to get the ball rolling.
- I went to the ER at 3 a.m. on February 1st. Kidney stone. I have only stone related bullets at this time, hence the post title.
- Ten days later, I followed up with a urologist and found out I’m “a stone former”. When he announced this, I immediately said the first thing that popped into my head, “Wow, I’d rather be a former Stone. How cool would it be to know Mick Jagger?” Dude didn’t even crack a smile. Let me drop a little hint to certain members of the medical profession. If you work with body parts or fluids that would make a ten-year-old laugh, get a freakin’ sense of humor. Oncologist = serious. Proctologist = Bozo the Clown.
- A thirty-six year old female is an oddity in the urology waiting room. I was by far the only person of childbearing age and gender in the place. I didn’t really notice until the lady next to me patted my hand and told me I was a nice girl to bring her grandfather to the doctor. I felt so good about being a nice girl that I didn’t tell her I had no clue who the octogenarian next to me was.
- Doctors are annoyingly curious about adoptees. When people learn I’m adopted they almost always say “Are you interested in finding your family?” My standard answer is, “I’d like to know if I have siblings and a little medical history would be nice, but I’m not planning to seek anything out.” Nine out of ten people drop the subject at this. However, doctors always prod, so I have to move on to statement number two, “Look, I have a great family and I don’t think I’ll find something better, so why subject myself to the drama?” Nine out of ten doctors drop it at this point. Not my urologist. He actually said, “Yeah, but what if your parents loved you, but circumstances forced them to give you up so you could have a better life?” I was taken aback. I blinked at him for a second and said, “Do you watch a lot of Lifetime movies?” He let it drop.
- I never passed my large stone, so I was unable to fish it out of my urine and tote it to the lab for analysis. Color me disappointed.
- Because I never passed the stone, I got to do a 24-hour urine study instead. This is not a preferable alternative to fishing a pebble out of your toilet. I had to collect my pee in a large jug all day. I also had to keep the jug refrigerated. Um, gross.
- Each time I walked through the house holding a cup of urine to add to the “pee jug”, as we affectionately dubbed it, I made jokes about fresh squeezed lemonade. I finally cut out the jokes when Jack said, “Mama, it’s not funny anymore, it’s just disturbing.” Ouch.
- I chose to keep the pee jug in the drink fridge. Currently, the only thing in the drink fridge is bottled beer. It seemed better to store a liter and a half of urine next to the Sam Adams Light rather than the milk and eggs.
- At one point, Cooper was checking out the drink fridge to see if any new juice boxes had materialized. Jack was in the kitchen with him and I was in the living room. Here’s the conversation I overheard:
C: ” What’s that?”
J: “A jug of Mama’s pee.”
C: ” What’s that?”
J: “A beer.”
C: “What are those?”
J: “Lots of beers.”
C: “I no wanna drink Mama’s pee.”